


things we carry

by ironarana



Category: Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, biological son AU, hnah fic, hydra's not a home, mild angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-07 22:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19858849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironarana/pseuds/ironarana
Summary: What they don't tell him, what they mulishly push away is the truth.That it was all real. However much they wish it was a nightmare they could wake up from, the truth is its not.It was real.Or, Peter is having a hard time adjusting after everything he's been through with Hydra. But Tony is there to comfort him when he feels like he's alone.





	things we carry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tempestaurora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempestaurora/gifts).



> so this is a fic I wrote and posted originally on wattpad for the incredible series "hydra's not a home" by tempestaurora here on ao3. so you're probably gonna wanna read that series first before you read this otherwise it's not gonna make any sense. i do not take ANY credit for the fic series hydra's not a home, that belongs solely to Bethany. but i loved the series so much i wanted to write a quick something about it and maybe cringe a little at my old writing. 
> 
> maybe i'll write another one around hnah sometime in the future. i really gotta reread that tbh. 
> 
> anyways hope you enjoy!

There are nights when sleep evades him, wandering just around the edges of his bed. So close but out of reach all the same. 

Then there are nights when sleep does come. It settles over him like a soft blanket, a gentle pressure that pushes him into a welcome and dreamless unconsciousness. 

And then there are nights like these: when he does sleep, only to wake up screaming and gasping for air hours later. Heart thundering along in his ears, chest constricting as he struggles to get air in.

This is when he makes an attempt to cry out for comfort, calling "Mom" or "Dad" as loud as his voice will allow. 

Then they're at his beside seconds later with worry lines around their mouth and between their brows. They hold his hand and coax him back to reality. They remind him it was just a dream, he's safe now, it's okay, they're okay. 

What they don't tell him, what they mulishly push away is the truth. 

That it was all real. However much they wish it was a nightmare they could wake up from, the truth is its not. 

It was real.

~ ~ ~

It's later in the morning when the sun is just cresting and spilling it's golden light over the city when Peter wanders down the hall into the kitchen, rubbing his bleary eyes.

Tony hovers around the stove and glances up when Peter enters. "Morning, kid," Tony greets. "How you feeling today?"

Peter runs a hand through his tousled hair and shrugs. "I'm okay." He walks forward. "What are you making?"

"What your famed Uncle Clint likes to call an 'All American Breakfast'."

On the stove, a pan sizzles and smokes, grease bubbles popping around strips of bacon. In another pan, there's lumps of scrambled eggs that are slightly charred in a few places but still edible in Peter's eyes. "It looks really good," he says.

"And you're not gonna get any of it until you're dressed for school." With a spatula, Tony points to the hallway. "Now go. It'll be all good and plated by the time you come out."

So Peter leaves and gets dressed, skipping a shower he can take after patrol later that night. He brushes his teeth and runs a comb through his hair.

He makes the mistake of looking in the mirror.

It's not that he hates mirrors he just hates what they reflect. He doesn't like to peer into the eyes of someone who has killed. Maimed. Murdered.

He can't even look himself in the eyes. He doesn't understand how Tony or even his mother still can.

Peter switches the light off and leaves. In the kitchen, Tony is already dishing up eggs and bacon with an added bonus of golden brown toast that went unnoticed previously.

"Order up," Tony says and slides Peter's plate across the table. "You want something on your toast?"

He suddenly doesn't think he can stomach the food. He was hungry earlier but now his stomach is just plain upset. In his ears, his heart pumps away: faster, louder.

"Hey, kid, d'you go deaf? We got jam, marmalade, peanut butter-"

"I killed a dad." A pause. Then, "His daughter was one room over. Small with pigtails. He begged me not to, told me that he had a daughter. His wife had left him. His kid was all he had." Peter's voice has been steady so far with an undercurrent of shakiness but now it consumes his words entirely. "And I didn't care."

"Oh, Peter," Tony breathes just as Peter's eyes well up and he stands, letting Tony pull him into his arms. "Oh, Peter, it's okay. It's okay. You're okay."

Peter cries and hyperventilates into Tony's shirt. Tony's fingers card through his hair and rubs circles on his lower back.

"How can you stand me?" Peter sobs. "How can you even look me in the eyes? Why am I even here?"

Tony gently disentangles himself from his son and presses his hands on Peter's shoulders, giving him a stern but soft and earnest look in his eyes. "Because you're my son, Peter. And there's nothing that you could ever do to make me stop loving you. You got that?"

Peter hiccups, nods, wipes away tears with the pad of his thumb.

"And, hey, you can't underestimate the power of forgiveness. Without it, I think I would've evicted old Buckaroo a long time ago."

This brings a laugh up and out of Peter's throat and Tony gives him a smile. "You're gonna be okay, kid.

"You're gonna be okay."

~ ~ ~

Even after Tony offers, Peter elects not to stay home from school. Tony hesitates at Peter's decision but agrees to let him go anyways. Peter's grateful that Tony lets him make his own decisions within reasons. He never really had that choice before. It feels good to have control over his own day.

Peter manages to get a piece of toast down and a glass of water. He's pretty sure that light foods have a lower chance of coming back up later.

He slings his backpack over his shoulder and they head downstairs. Tony lets Peter pick the car - a red Audi - before they leave, Tony driving and Peter riding shotgun.

They weave through city traffic. Buildings tower over them. Street vendors shout and engine exhaust swirls in the chill air. Somewhere, a bottle shatters.

Tony pulls up to the curb and parks. As Peter reaches to unbuckle, Tony says, "Now, your mom's in meetings all day so if you need to call someone it's me, got it?"

"Yeah, I got it."

"Cool, see you later, underroos."

Peter, fingering the door handle, stops with an odd, lopsided smile on his face. "What did you just say?"

"Underroos." Tony's joking grin turns to a concerned frown. "Why you don't like it?"

"No, no, no, I do. It's, uh, it's neat. Better than some of my other nicknames."

"Which we are not going to talk about right now, okay? I'll pick you up later. Bye, Pete."

"Bye, Dad."

Tony peels away, tires squealing, as Peter jogs up the steps into school.

Inside the double doors, Ned is already waiting with a hand on his backpack strap. "Hey, dude, dude, dude, did you see the news that came out about that Rogue One character?"

Peter shakes his head. He doesn't tend to stay too caught up with movies and characters even after watching all seven movies and additional spin offs. "No, not really."

Ned prattles on as they walk, slowly making their way through the crowd of students to Peter's locker. "Well," Ned says, "you remember that one character, Cassian Andor? You know, the captain?" Peter nods. "He's gonna get his own miniseries on Disney's streaming service."

"What?" Peter replies, surprised. "No way, that's awesome, when does it come out?"

"Next Spring I think. Or whenever they launch their service."

"That's so cool."

"I know!"

They arrive at Peter's locker. He spins the code into his lock until it clicks and then he's pulling the door open, shoving books into his backpack while taking others out and putting them in.

Something suddenly flares in his head, neurons firing off, and then his locker door slams.

Peter jumps. Flash smiles and leans against the wall of lockers casually. "Hey, Stark. What's got your goat?"

Peter's chest shakes as he forces breaths in and heaves them out. "Hey, Flash."

"So, you mind if I ask your help with something?" He waves Ned off. "No offense, Leeds, but this doesn't really concern you."

Ned raises his chin and says, resolutely, "I'm only leaving if Peter wants me to."

"What do you want, Flash?" Peter asks.

"Well, see, I have this project going on for English. I'm sure you got the same one where you have to interview someone inspirational or interesting in your life and then write a report about it. Not that I see you as inspirational but I think there's definitely some interesting things I could find out about you."

Just then, Michelle approaches. "Hey!" she calls and then scowls when Flash pivots to face her. "Leave him alone."

"Or what?" Flash glances down to Michelle's arms where she has a fiftieth anniversary copy of To Kill a Mockingbird pressed against her chest. "You gonna go crying wolf to old daddy Atticus about a mean, scary Boo Radley you got intimidating you?"

Most times, Peter can handle conflict. He can jump in and tell off the bullies or scare away back alley muggers or string up ATM robbers after just a few punches.

But his subconscious is still reeling from earlier that morning - dark, bloody memories flashing in front of his eyes - and he feels too hot and too close quartered, heart beating too erratically and too hard against his sternum. He presses a hand against his chest.

"Flash, just get out of here," Ned says and steps to Flash's face. "Peter doesn't wanna help you."

"I can't breathe," Peter gasps. "I can't breathe."

No one must have heard him over the clamour of other students because Flash replies, "Well, I think we should ask him for ourselves, don't you?"

He can feel everyone's eyes on him but all he can focus on is trying to stay upright. Nausea begins to swell.

But taking precedence over everything is one thought, one feeling, that overwhelms everything else: _I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die._

"Peter, are you okay?" Ned asks.

His senses pitch up into a frenzy. Ned's voice is too loud, Flash's cologne is too strong. Heavy footsteps around him beat against his head like a hammer. He can't breathe, can't think, can't move.

_I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die._

Ned tries again and places a hand on his shoulder. "Peter-"

The hand does it.

A primal, survival instinct takes over. He takes off running. Students part like the Red Sea as he runs and runs until he reaches a clearing.

Frantic, his eyes scan the walls for a vent. He doesn't find any but he settles for the janitorial closet, ducks inside and locks it.

He burrows into a corner underneath a shelf. There's still strong scents of bleach and lemon cleaning agents but the noise has dulled and dulls more when Peter clamps his hands over his ears and puts his head between his knees.

There's so much pressing down on him. All those memories, all those murders, he just wants them gone. He can't carry them, he can't, he can't, he can't. He's not strong enough. Zeus must have known, surely, when he cursed Atlas that even the mightiest Titan could not hold up the world forever.

Peter can't carry this anymore.

He tries to focus on breathing. On transforming his hyperventilating breaths into steady, even ones. Tries to focus on his mother's golden hair and sun kissed skin. His father's grease stained hands and scraggly shave.

He doesn't know much time has passed when someone is knocking on the door, startling him out of a stupor.

"Parker?" Principal Morita says. "Peter, can you open the door?" When Peter doesn't reply, he adds, "Peter, I've called your father. He's gonna be here any minute now and you're gonna have to open the door."

Peter's hears scuffling outside and then a new voice, one that belongs to who Principal Morita said was coming. 

"Peter?" Tony says. "Hey, kid, how are you doing in there?"

He sniffles. He didn't realize he was crying. Again.

"Peter?" Tony tries. "I can't help you if you don't open the door, buddy."

It comes from nowhere and leaves at the same time. "I can't carry this anymore," Peter sobs.

There's a pause. Then, "Can't carry what?"

"Everything I've done," Peter replies. "It's too much, Dad, it's too much."

Simply, as if it was there all along, Tony says, "Then let me help you. 

"Peter, you don't-you don't have to carry everything all by yourself. That's why you have people. You have me and you have your Mom and we don't want to see you buckle under the weight. You don't have to spell it all out for me right now but later, you can just lay it down at my feet. I'll pick it all up and I promise you, I'm not gonna break. But I can't do that unless you come out."

Peter lets Tony's words settle in. Then, heart aching, he pulls himself up, ignoring how his legs shake and he opens the door.

Principal Morita and Ned and Michelle are all lying in wait but it's only Tony that he sees when he eyes scan over their concerned faces.

Peter, face tear stained, embraces Tony. His father folds him into a hug. Even with pairs of eyes on them, he feels safe and warm.

"I can't carry it all," he murmurs into Tony's shirt.

Tony's chest vibrates when he speaks. "No one ever asked you to, Pete. Just let me help you."

Peter nods, his face brushing against fabric. Tony says something to Morita and then everyone is turning away, leaving only him and his father in an empty school hallway.

Later, he'll tell Tony as much as he can remember. He'll tell Tony everything because he can't carry it. He can't carry it but Tony can help, Tony can ease his burdens and lift the world off his shoulders even if it's just for a few minutes.

But for now, Peter will cry a little bit longer and he'll take time to remember, to impress words onto his mind that will stick for years to come.

No one ever asked him to carry it all alone.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked it??? idk i thought it was good at the time i wrote it *shrugs*
> 
> anyways leave a kudos or a comment if you liked it and i'll talk to you guys later, bye!
> 
> instagram: ironarana  
> wattpad: ironarana


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